officer_harding

This profile was copied automatically from the old chat.

Officer harding

a special investigations officer in the homicide department.

he has been chasing up several unusualy gruesome death around town. corpses have been recovered that are little more than empty husks. the examining surgeon claiming that it is as if they have had their vital organs along with most of the surrounding tissue literaly sucked out of them.
sometimes even out through their own genitanalia.

the few witnesses found have claimed to see some strangly dresses white haired girl present at the time of the murders.
chasing this woman. has lead officer harding here. to the park.

That was 2 years ago but the dreams still haunt him. The memories of being held to the ground by dead hands emerging from the earth beneath his feet. The cold inhuman laughter of the white haired necromancer as she stood watching her abomination kneel astride his prone form, still bring him awake with a screem in the small hours of the morning sometimes.

3am now finds him gazing into the ceramic well of his own toilet, wretching at the memories of that cold dead woman atop him, her face mercifully hidden behind the emotionless cover of an old WWII style gasmask that it wore, a long hose like tube curiously dangling from it infront of the abominations mouth. Being to terrified to even scream of cry out as that horrible tube pierced his body in numerous places and noisily drank from it's warm living meal.

The bitch even took his eye! He remembers in detail every everysound, everysight. Her paralyzing venom would not even let him close his eyes, forcing him to stare at the gut churnging sight of he long twisting feeding tube slideing upto his face and fastening above the eyes socket, The wet slurping sound once more, the sting in his eye, growing into searing white pain as the nerves endings, veins and anchoring flesh tear and break under a suction well beyond any that a mere human body should be capable of producing. The recolection to much for him, his stomach finaly lets lose, expelling it's evening meal of cheap microwaved instant food and half a bottle of even cheaper wiskey into the rippling mirror of the water beneath him. The sound of the gunshots and the thoughts of the horror falling from him. fading from his mind as he catches his breath and climbs back onto his trembling feet.

Cringing at the smell of his own breath, he stubles out of the bathroom, not even bothering with the flush, he just stumble to the bet and literaly flops down, onto it's softness and into a fitful uneasy rest before he is snaped back awake once more by the sound of the phone and the realisation that it is morning.

---

THE PHONE CALL

Yeah harding speaking. What celestial turd of biblical maginitude is life raining down on me today?

"harding?. You sound like shit man. Your are losing it. you've been losing it for a long time now"

"moring boss. kind of you to call. You got anything to tell me that i don't already know?"

"dam right i have jack, got your latest therapy report infront of me"

"oh groovey. so what does that overpayed uptight lezer have to say about me this time"

"she says that nothing is going to get better until you face upto your fears jack. back on the horse that threw ya and all that"

"hah yeah well thats easy for her to say from behind her leather bound oak desk in a nice safe warm office. Besides. that was 2 years ago. It's over and gone. well for the rest of the world at least"

"not so jack, it never did stop, the case is far from closed we just never told you cause we didn't think you were ready.
we got some more missing persons reports fresh this week and you are the only officer with any field experience in this one, combined with the latest psycho - evaluation makes you the man for the job"

"not interested, somebody elses problem this time, done my time in that particular hell"

"I'm not giving you the choice jack. Your on the case and all the whinning in the world ain't gonna get me to relent this time around.

Jack?........jack?

*The comisioner stares at the receaver at the sound of shattering glass as the phone at the other end is launched through a window and then the line goes dead*

---

So now he is back in the park. A rough unkempt looking man, A patch over one eye and one hand nervously fidling with either a bottle of whatever cheap booze he can lay his hands on or a lit cigarette. He is both jumping and neurotic, he wanders the park, the place of his darkest nightmares, searching for the muderor of various missing persons, maybe even a body or two or whatever clues he can find. Torn between keeping his head down and doing his job.
He is constantly tense to the point of looking about ready to snap.
Deep down, desperatly hoping that he might live long enough for his chain smoking or ever growing acohol habbit to get a chance to be the death of him.
So his therapist thinks facing his fears will do him good does she? fucking bitch!

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A background story that sets the mood for Harding as a character cand be found here